


The Storm is Raging Against Us Now (We're Walking the Wire, Love)

by ainewrites



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: And a happy ending, F/F, Waverly-centric, always and forever a happy ending, and fluff, my first bit of writing for this fandom, so here have this, there's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 12:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainewrites/pseuds/ainewrites
Summary: Waverly is six years old and watching her world go up in flames, she's sixteen and finds out that Wynonna was right all along, she's twenty-one and kissing her girlfriend like her life depends on it, and she's twenty-two and holding her newborn niece in her arms.





	The Storm is Raging Against Us Now (We're Walking the Wire, Love)

Waverly is barely two days old and wrapped in pink blankets from the hospital and she’s not Waverly, not yet. She has a bracelet around her wrist that says “Earp Baby Girl”, and a row of numbers that match her mother’s own bracelet, discarded as soon as they walked from the hospital doors. As soon as they’re home, Ward Earp vanishes into the depths of the house, not even pausing to greet his two, older daughters who had been waiting at the bottom of the stairs since they heard the car pull in.

“What’s her name?”

It’s Wynonna that asks, raising on her tiptoes to peer at her baby sister. Willa still sits on the stairs, barely even looking at the pink bundle in her mother’s arms.

“We haven’t decided yet.” She smiles down at Wynonna, before glancing up at Willa, gesturing for her to come closer. Willa snorts and bounds back up the stairs, and their mother’s face creases, her smile becoming less bright. She returns her attention to her middle daughter. “We think we’re going to call her Welcome.”

“That’s stupid,” Wynonna says in disgust, nose wrinkling from her distaste at the name.

But instead of getting mad, their mother just smiles. “Well, if you don’t like Welcome, what do you think her name should be?”

Wynonna surveys the little pink face, the wispy brown-blonde hair, the tiny hand held tucked to her cheek.

“Waverly,” Wynonna says, confidence thick in her six-year-old’s voice. “Her name is Waverly.”

-

Waverly is two years old and she clutches a rubber duck in chubby toddler hands. Wynonna had given it to her, had found it in the back corner of her closet, and Waverly loves it. She takes off across the kitchen as fast as her still-wobbly legs can take her, desperate to show it off.

Ward Earp is sitting at the table, a bottle of beer in front of him and Peacemaker in his hands. He runs a cloth over the barrel of the gun, carefully cleaning any dust that it may have acquired. Waverly reaches up, tugging on the loose fabric of his pants, a toothy grin on her face.

“Daddy, look!” She holds up the duck in her free hand. “Duck!”

She does not get the reaction she was seeking. Instead, Ward Earp snarls and knocks the duck from her hands, not even looking at his youngest daughter. Waverly stands there, stunned, before bursting into tears.

She runs into her mother’s legs, clutching at them and sobbing, and her mother lifts her up into her arms.

“Oh, baby girl,” she coos, bouncing Waverly like she’s still a tiny baby. “My angel.”

Later that night, Waverly’s parents fight again, and although Waverly doesn’t understand what it’s about, she still understands enough to cause her to go and climb into Wynonna’s bed, where she stays the rest of the night.

-

Waverly is four years old and supposed to be asleep, but she hears the creak outside her bedroom regardless. She slides from her bed and pads across the cold wooden floor on bare feet, opening her bedroom door just enough to see her mother lift a suitcase so it doesn’t clatter down the stairs. Waverly knows she’s not supposed to be awake, knows she’s not allowed to leave her room, but she follows anyways.

“Mama?” She asks, her voice startlingly loud in the dead-silent house. Her mother freezes, one hand on the doorknob, a deer in the headlines, staring at her youngest daughter.

“Waverly, angel, you should be in bed,” she says, but Waverly steps forward again, clutching Mr. Rabbit to her chest.

“What are you doing?”

Wendy Earp seems to crumple in front of Waverly, and she suddenly looks so, so tired. She reaches out for Waverly, cups her face in both hands.

“I need to leave for a while, angel,” she says, gently pushing wispy strands of hair from Waverly’s face. “You’ll stay here with Daddy and Willa and Wynonna, okay?”

Waverly’s lip begins to tremble. “I don’t want you to go,” she says, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. It sometimes feels like her mother is her only source of protection from Willa’s constant anger and her father’s biting indifference, and the thought that that might gone was awful, especially to a four-year old.

Her mother uses the pad of her thumb to brush a tear from her cheek. “Wynonna will look after you. Just wait, okay? I’ll be back. I promise.” She pulls Waverly into a hug so tight that Waverly squirms, planting a kiss to her forehead.

And then she’s gone, and so Waverly does what she was asked. She sits on the bottom steps, and waits. She holds Mr. Rabbit close, and buries her face in the soft fur of the stuffed animal’s head, and waits.

-

Waverly is four years old and sitting in what used to be her mother’s garden. The flowers grow wild now, no longer in their neat, tidy rows, but Waverly loves the mess of the garden. Loves the way the lavender grows large and bushy, the way the roses twist and climb over each other, the way the sunny yellow dandelions, no longer weeded, turn into tiny little puffy clouds if she just waits long enough.

She can hear the familiar crack of a shotgun echoing from the front of the house, the tinny clatter and the shatter of glass as the cans and bottles her father has lined up on the fence shatter and fall under Willa’s careful shot. She doesn’t know where Wynonna is, only knows that her older sister disappears sometimes, and that when she does, she never wants anyone to try and find her.

Which is why it’s surprising when a human shadow is cast over her, and she stiffens instantly, expecting either Daddy’s sharp bite or Willa’s stinging anger, but instead the man that stands over her is unfamiliar.

“Waverly,” he says, and Waverly doesn’t wonder how he knows her name; it’s yelled at her often enough. She picks up Mr. Rabbit and hugs him close, biting her lip.

“Your coat is funny,” she says finally, and it is: furry like the inside of her own jacket, but longer and all over. “What’s your name?”

“Bobo,” he says, and he crouches down so he’s eye level with her. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, ang…Waverly.”

Waverly tilts her head, looking at him curiously. “Do you want to be friends?” She doesn’t have many friends. Wynonna’s her friend, and so’s Mr. Rabbit, but Wynonna disappears a lot and Mr. Rabbit can’t talk, as much as she wishes he could. And she’s not old enough to go to school yet, so she spends all her time here, at the homestead, and no one ever comes here.

“Yes, Waverly,” Bobo says, and there’s something strange about his smile. “I’ll be your friend.”

-

Waverly is five years old and watching as a furious Willa comes charging toward her.

She doesn’t know what she did but whatever it was made Willa angry, and Waverly can’t see Wynonna, knows that even if she screamed Daddy wouldn’t come and help her, so she does the only thing she can do. She turns and she runs, through the fields towards the pond, because she has nowhere else to go.

But Willa is older and faster, and she catches up just as Waverly reaches the edge of the frozen pond. Willa rips Mr. Rabbit from her arms, dangling it just out of Waverly’s reach, even as Waverly jumps and pleads.

Willa doesn’t give Mr. Rabbit back. Instead, she throws him as hard and as far as she can, and he lands face down on the ice of the pond. Waverly, without thinking, scrambles out after him. She scoops up her toy, brushing snow from his floppy ears.

“Why is she so mean?” Waverly wonders, glancing back towards the shore at Willa, glaring under her eyelashes. Willa smiles, but it’s not a nice smile, and starts like she’s going to follow Waverly out onto the ice.

So Waverly runs. She’s been on the other side of Willa’s wrath too many times, and she doesn’t want to face it again. Her snow boots slip and skid on the slick ice of the pond, but she doesn’t notice the cracking, doesn’t notice the dark lines snaking out toward her. Doesn’t realize the danger until the ice cracks under her feet and she plunges into icy water.

She doesn’t scream. It happens so quickly. One minutes she’s running on the ice and the next she’s underneath it, in water so cold it makes her chest cold and instantly steals any air that she might have had in her lungs. She tries to get to the surface, sees the jagged circle of sky through the cold, dark haze of the water, but her clothing drags her down and there’s blackness at the edge of her vision and her lungs burn. She still clutches Mr. Rabbit in her hand.

She is young and terrified and drowning beneath the ice in her own backyard, and she fights to get up and out and into the air, screams under the water for _Wynonna_ , for _Daddy_ , for _Willa_ , bubbles exploding from her mouth. But no one comes.

Until, someone does. A hand closes around her arm and yanks her from the water, and she chokes and gasps and closes her eyes and _shakes_ , instinctively curling into the warm arms of whoever’s holding her.

“I got you, Waverly, my angel,” the voice says, and at first Waverly thinks it’s Mama, but then she opens her eyes, vision blurry, and the face is not one that belongs to her mother.

“Bobo?” Her lips and tongue are numb with cold, and everything goes black for a while.

When she wakes up again, she’s in bed with what feels like all the blankets in the house piled on top of her, and Wynonna curled up asleep in the chair next to her bed. She still feels cold, cold down to her bones. She makes a little, choked sound, and Wynonna is up and alert in an instant, as if she was never asleep. Her sister crawls up next to her on the couch, and they curl together.

“It’s okay, babygirl,” Wynonna says, and Waverly cries.

She still feels like there’s water from the pond in her chest.

-

Waverly is six years old, and the world outside is fire and smoke and screaming, and Daddy is screaming and angry and Willa is screaming and angry and Wynonna is screaming at both of them, and Waverly huddles in the corner and cries, because she understands what’s happening but at the same time she _doesn’t_ , and everything is screaming and chaos and she watches as Daddy and Willa are dragged away. She watches as Wynonna scoops up Peacemaker, watches as the door is thrown open.

Waverly is six years old, and she watches Wynonna shoot their own father.

-

Waverly is six years old, and Bobo stops visiting, after Daddy and Willa die.

-

Waverly is six years old, and she’s in a strange house with strange people who introduce themselves as Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis. She squishes herself as close to a glaring Wynonna as she can get, one hand curling into a fist at the back of Wynonna’s shirt. Wynonna is holding her equally tightly, positioning Waverly half behind her, arm out in front of her as if to protect her.

“We never heard about you,” she says, and even as young as she is, Waverly can hear the challenge in Wynonna’s voice.

The woman who calls herself Aunt Gus sighs. “I wouldn’t expect so, no.” She looks to the man, who shrugs. She sighs, again. “I’m your mother’s aunt. When she married your father, she cut off all contact with her own family, and while we knew she had you, we never got to meet you.”

Wynonna scoffs. “Why’d you never try to meet us? We live in the same town.” Venom drips from her voice, and Waverly can feel her start to shake in anger. Gus opens her mouth to respond, but Wynonna cuts her off, anger dripping from every pore. “We’re leaving.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. Home. Somewhere.” Wynonna starts toward the door, grabbing Waverly’s hand, but Waverly stops, drags her feet a little. Wynonna turns to her.

“Waverly?”

This house is nice. It’s warm and smells like cookies and there are cats sleeping in front of the fireplace and Gus and Curtis smiled at them when they walked in the door, and Waverly can’t remember the last time that happened.

“I want to stay,” Waverly tells Wynonna, because she does, and Wynonna looks at her for a long time. And then, she lets Waverly’s hand go. The door slams behind her, and Waverly is left standing alone in the middle of the front hallway. Gus sighs.

“I’ll go talk to her.” And then she’s gone, too, and Waverly looks up at Uncle Curtis, and he looks down at her.

“Do you like grilled cheese?” he asks finally, and Waverly nods. So he makes her a grilled cheese with bacon and tomato, and by the time she finishes it and is licking the grease from her fingers, Wynonna is back, scowling and silent, but back. She slides into a chair next to Waverly, and a sandwich is given to her, too, without a word.

Later, that night, they’re supposed to be asleep in separate bedrooms, but Waverly tiptoes into Wynonna’s.

“You’re not going to leave?” She asks, and Wynonna sits up, face dark in the shadows of the room.

“Not for now.”

-

Waverly is seven years old, and wakes up one morning to find Wynonna gone. When she questions Gus and Curtis, they tell her that Wynonna needs help, and that they sent her to get that help.

Later that day, on the elementary school playground, a boy tells her that his parents told him that Wynonna got carted away to the crazy hospital in the middle of the night. Waverly runs crying to Gus, who sits down in front of her, and holds her arms, squeezing tightly.

“Waverly, honey, your sister kept talking about demons,” Gus says, looking at her seriously. “She kept saying that demons dragged your father and sister from the house, not burglars. Sometimes, after a…traumatic event, the mind makes stuff up, to help you understand it. Your sister’s mind couldn’t understand humans doing such horrible thing, so her mind made them into demons. Do you understand?”

Waverly didn’t, because she knows that they were demons, but she nods, anyways. Gus rubs her arm, nodding.

“Well, there are special doctors who can help her understand what happened, help her understand that they weren’t really demons.”

“Charles said she’s going to the crazy hospital,” Waverly whispers, and Gus’s face falls.

“Oh, honey, no. Do you know how regular hospitals help you with your body? Well, she’s gone to a hospital that helps with your mind. She’s not crazy, and it’s not a “crazy” hospital, either.”

Waverly nods, and wipes her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. Gus stands up, but not before saying,

“And, Waverly, there’s no shame in looking for help, okay? So if you ever think…if you ever want to talk to someone, I’ll make sure you can.”

Waverly doesn’t understand what she means, but she nods.

Wynonna comes back three weeks later, pale from lack of sunlight and angrier than before, but Waverly’s really glad to have her back, regardless.

-

Waverly is nine years old, and Wynonna doesn’t live with them, anymore.

Neither Gus nor Curtis will tell her why, and Waverly would be really sad, but she still gets to see Wynonna for lunch one a week. Wynonna won’t tell her why she’s gone, either, will only say she’s in the _system_ (and Waverly’s not sure what that means, only knows that Wynonna says it like it’s the worst thing in the world).

Waverly misses her. Even with Gus and Curtis and the cats, the house feels empty without her, like there’s a missing piece that should be there, but Waverly doesn’t know how to voice this, so when they say goodbye at the end of the lunch, Waverly just hugs Wynonna as tightly as she can.

-

Waverly is twelve years old, and Wynonna tells her she’s leaving.

Her stomach sinks, down into her feet. “ _Leaving_ , leaving?” She asks, a lump rising in her throat. “Leaving Purgatory?”

“Yep,” Wynonna says, slamming her suitcase closed with a viciously triumphant expression. “I would have left as soon as I turned eighteen, but Gus insisted I stay for a few months just until I found a place to live.”

“Where are you going?”

“Vancouver,” Wynonna says, plopping down on her bed next to Waverly. “Or Toronto. Or maybe I’ll leave B.C. altogether. I dunno. I only told Gus I found I place because I can’t stand being in this _hellhole_ for another day.”

There are tears pricking at the corners of Waverly’s eyes. “But…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Wynonna snaps, but that only serves to make Waverly start crying for real. Wynonna sighs.

“Look, babygirl, it has nothing to do with you, okay? I just…I don’t have a lot of good memories attached to this place. Hell, I don’t think I have any good memories at all.”

“Wynonna…”

“I’ll come back,” Wynonna says, giving Waverly a one-armed hug. “For your birthday. Every year.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

Waverly snuggles into her older sister, breathes in her familiar smell. “You’ll come back for Christmas too, right? And Thanksgiving?”

“We’ll see.”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either, and Waverly clings it fiercely because she can’t imagine a world where she only sees her sister once a year.

The next morning, Waverly stands at the bus stop at 6AM, watching as it pulls away from the station with Wynonna on it. It’s barely been three minutes, but Waverly can already feel the gnawing ache of loneliness open in her chest.

-

Waverly is fifteen years old, now, but Wynonna didn’t come.

Like promised, Wynonna has shown up on every single one of Waverly’s birthdays since she left, sporting cupcakes and a messily wrapped present, and every single time Waverly has thrown her arms around her sister and hugged her so tightly that Wynonna protests. It makes her warm inside, that Wynonna remembers. Because when she was a kid, no one remembered. She had no birthday cake, no presents, just a little red circle she drew on the calendar herself, because she knew no one else would.

But Wynonna remembered, and Wynonna came back.

But not this year. She eats French toast with real maple syrup with Gus and Curtis, unwraps neatly wrapped presents addressed to her: a new sweater, a gift card to the bookstore, a pretty bracelet with a little sun charm, but a pit grows and grows in her stomach as the day goes on, and no Wynonna comes breezing in the door, snarky and smiling.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” Uncle Curtis says, “Her bus was probably just late.”

But Waverly knows, deep in her chest, that Wynonna’s not going to show up. And she knows by the expression on Gus’s face that she knows, too. By the time it’s time to eat her cake, she’s not hungry anymore, even though it’s a chocolate ice cream cake, her favorite. But she didn’t want this cake, not really. She wanted the mini vanilla grocery store cupcakes Wynonna would inevitably buy at the local store, the ones that tasted horrible and wonderful at the same time and made her teeth ache from sweetness.

She cries when she goes to bed that night, because Wynonna had forgotten too, just like Daddy, and why did she ever expect to be any different.

Three days later a battered package appears at the post office for her, and when she unwraps it, she finds the ugliest sweater she’s ever seen in at least three sizes to big, and a handwritten note from Wynonna pinned to the top.

_Hey, Waves, sorry I couldn’t make it this year, but I hope my present did at least. Happy birthday. Don’t do anything stupid._

_-Wynonna._

It’s not much, but it’s enough, and Waverly beams and wears the sweater every chance she gets until it’s ragged and falling apart. Wynonna doesn’t come back the next year, or the year after, but the presents keep coming instead.

Until they don’t.

-

Waverly is sixteen years old, and makes cheerleading team.

Gus has been pushing her to get out, to make friends, and while she has friends in the most basic of sense, while she’s popular in the way that means everyone at school knows her and likes her well enough, she doesn’t really have _friends_. She considers trying out for band, but it’s full, and she’s not a well enough actor to try drama, nor does she have any interest in set building, so cheerleading seems like the next best thing. Besides, she loves to dance, and cheerleading can’t be that much different from dancing, can it?

It is, even though it’s still set to music. It’s hard and exhausting and she goes home with her muscles aching and her stomach screaming in hunger, but Gus smiles at her like she’s proud, and Waverly wants to make her proud. She wants it _desperately_ , some part of her still the little girl begging for her father to notice her, and even though she doesn’t love cheerleading, she keeps at it.

The other girls are nice enough. A bit gossipy, a bit mean at times, but nice enough, and it makes Gus’s face light up every time Waverly tells her she’s going somewhere with them. And Waverly thinks she can handle the gossip and the occasional mean-spirited teasing, but then they’re in the locker room before homecoming, and Bella stands in front of her.

“So, Waves,” she says, flicking long dark hair over her shoulder. “Carla and I have a bet, and you can settle it for us.”

“Really?” Waverly looks between the two girls, both standing with their arms crossed and feet planted in front of her. “What…what can I do?”

“Well,” Carla drawls, pouting her lips, shiny and pink with lip gloss as she says the word. “I heard that the reason your daddy died was because Wynonna shot him. Bella says that it’s true, but I don’t think so.”

Panic and disbelief rises in Waverly’s chest, and she opens and closes her mouth in shock. Both Bella and Carla are looking at her, eyebrows raised, waiting, and even though the rest of the girls are trying to pretend they’re not, they’re listening, too. There’s a rush in Waverly’s ears, and she stutters, gasps.

“No,” she finally whispers, finally _lies_ , and Bella rolls her eyes.

“Fine,” she groans, slapping a twenty-dollar bill into Carla’s hands. Carla laughs like it’s _no big deal_ , giving Waverly a little wink before waltzing away.

It takes almost twenty minutes for Waverly to stop shaking. But she never looks at her team the same way after that.

Because Wynonna may be gone, Waverly may not have heard from her in over two years, but she’s still her sister.

-

Waverly is sixteen years old, and is asked on her first date.

His name is Joey and he’s a football player, a receiver, and he spends most of his time on the bench but Waverly doesn’t mind. He’s nice enough looking, she supposes; tall and blonde with a toothy smile and a dimple in his left cheek, and while he doesn’t make her heart race or give her butterflies in her stomach, she says yes to the date.

He takes her to the movies, buys her a soda and a box of Smarties, and they share a bucket of popcorn while the Avengers fight aliens on screen. Part way through the movie he takes her hand, and it’s fine. It’s a bit hot and sweaty, and Waverly doesn’t _enjoy_ holding his hand, exactly, but it’s fine.

After the movie, Joey invites to her go to the diner for late-night waffles, and while Waverly wants the waffles she also wants to go home, so she politely declines and leaves, but not before Joey asks her out on another date. And while the prospect doesn’t excite her, she can’t think of a reason to say no, so she agrees.

And besides, even with the girls on her cheerleading squad and the girls that sit with her at lunch and everybody she hangs out with before and after the football games, she’s really lonely, and maybe dating Joey will make her less so.

-

Waverly is sixteen years old, and finds out Wynonna was right, all along.

She’s going through boxes in the attic, ones taken from the homestead after the attack, and she finds a piece of paper, old and browning, written in old-fashioned script and talking about _the heir_. The words stir a sense of familiarity deep inside her, and she fumbles through the rest of the box with frantic hands. Because it’s been years, and she’s really started to wonder if the demons and magic guns and curses were really products of Wynonna’s angry, grieving mind. But these papers, these papers say they weren’t.

So, Waverly researches. She digs up more documents and letters and notes from the boxes, goes through old newspapers and family trees and all the books on mythology she can find. She looks up Peacemaker and Revenants and the heir and the Earp curse and about the beginning; about Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, partners and best friends. And when she finds things in languages nearly no one can speak, she teaches herself those languages, buying programs and apps and books, going word by word. She takes notes and writes theories and runs their printer out of ink twice in six months.

One day, she looks up from her floor to see Gus and Curtis standing in her doorway, watching her. There are headphones in her ears as she listens to an audiobook about Wyatt Earp and there’s a highlighter cap in her mouth and papers and sticky notes and pens scattered across her floor.

It’s Curtis who speaks. “Waverly, we’ve been talking, and we have no idea what you’re doing, but whatever it is, it clearly makes you happy.”

“And,” Gus picks up, “We want to support you in whatever way we can. So…if you want to start enrolling in language classes at the college…well, we’ll help you pay your way.”

Waverly squeals. “Really?” She rushes forward, wraps them both in a tight hug. “Thank you!”

“Of course, Waverly,” Curtis says, patting her shoulder. “We just want you to be happy.”

-

Waverly is seventeen years old, and has sex for the first time in the backseat of Joey’s truck.

It’s fumbling and awkward and it hurts a little bit when Joey gets a bit too rough, but it’s fine. It’s not great or amazing or even all that pleasurable, but it’s fine.

They’ve been dating for three months now, and Joey had come to pick her up from her night class on dead languages at the little college in the city, even though it’s almost an hour’s drive, even though she’s perfectly fine taking the bus. She climbs into the passenger seat of his truck and he smiles, and they’re quiet most of the drive, country music on the radio. But then, instead of pulling into the main road of Purgatory, he pulls off into the field, and parks the truck, switches it off.

“Joey…?” she starts to ask, but then he’s kissing her, and Waverly thinks _okay_ , late night make out session. It’s not the first time. But then his hand starts creeping up her skirt, and she understands. And suddenly her tights are off and his hands are up the front of her shirt, and then they’re unlatching her bra and all can she think about is how the edge of the door is digging uncomfortably into her shoulders.

He asks if it’s okay, and she nods, and then her underpants are down at her ankles and he’s leaning over her, fumbling at his belt buckle, one arm propping him up neck to Waverly’s head. He pulls a condom from his wallet and then it happens. And he’s making funny grunting sounds and with every sharp movement of his hips Waverly’s shoulders smack against the door, and all she can think of how weird is feels.

Afterwards, she watches as he discards of the condom and pulls his pants back up. She lies there for a second, and it’s odd. Because the girls at school made their first times sound _amazing_ and _magical_ and _special_ , but this was just fine.

She pulls up her underwear and tights and reclasps her bra, and then climbs into the passenger seat.

Joey drops her off at Curtis and Gus’s twenty minutes later, and she walks up to the house, book bag bumping against her hip and the slightest of aches between her legs.

Waverly thinks she should feel different, feel changed. But she feels like nothing of importance had happened all.

She and Joey break up three weeks later. She’s not sad about it. Joey was fine. But she didn’t ever see anything ever _happening_ with him.

-

Waverly is eighteen years old, and gets a job at Shorty’s.

She’s newly legal and welding a bartending license and the charming friendliness that fits any kind of server well. She becomes known for her easy ability to sooth fights and smooth over flaring tempers, and every time Shorty praises her she flushes with pride and beams. She likes feeling like she’s wanted, _needed_ , even. She moves into the apartment above the bar and relishes in having a space that’s uniquely hers. She still goes to the college in the city Monday Wednesday Friday nights for classes, but she thinks she’s going to switch to online college one this quarter is over.

She continues her research. The Earp Curse and the revenants and Peacemaker are all stories she’s dying to uncover, and sometimes she stays up late, late, late at night until she can barely keep her eyes open because everything is wonderful and fascinating.

She graduates high school, valedictorian and cheer caption and all her classmates cheer for her when she gets her diploma. She sees Gus and Curtis in the crowd of parents and grandparents and siblings, cheering, and she smiles at them, even as her heart sinks a little.

There’s an empty seat beside them. She didn’t expect Wynonna to come, not really. No one knows where Wynonna is, and there’s no way to contact her, but the foolish part of her hoped that Wynonna would somehow _know_.

Because as much as Waverly loves Gus and Curtis, she misses Wynonna with a fierce ache, the longing of a little girl for her big sister.

-

Waverly is nineteen years old, and catches the attention of Champ Hardy.

She’s been voted nicest person in Purgatory at their annual strawberry festival, and she’s wearing a golden sash and a shiny foil crown on her head, and she is congratulated and greeted by what feels like everyone in the town, giving hugs and kisses to cheeks and her trademark bright smile on her face.

Champ finds her outside the library, where she sits on a bench drinking lemonade from a Styrofoam cup. He smiles down at her, his grin crooked and toothy.

“You’re Waverly Earp, right?” he asks, “You work at Shorty’s?”

“Yeah,” she says back, smiling up at him. She knows who he is, of course; everyone does, but she doesn’t think they’ve ever talked.

“Well,” Champ says, plopping down beside her. “I was wondering if you’d want to maybe go and get ice cream with me.”

“What, like a date?” She teases, but Champ doesn’t seem to get the joke and just nods solemnly.

“Okay,” she says, after a second, and he smiles and pulls her to her feet. He buys her an ice cream cone, like he promised, and later that night he kisses her in the shadow of the Sheriff’s station. They go on their first official date two nights later, and have sex a week and a half after that.

She doesn’t love him, she doesn’t think. She’s not even sure if she likes him, and there are things that he does that she doesn’t like, certainly. She doesn’t like the way he gets possessive when she talks to other men and the way he gets grabby when he’s drunk and the way he doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at other girls. She doesn’t know if he either doesn’t care that Waverly sees or just isn’t smart enough to realize, but it doesn’t matter.

She’s not even sure that she likes Champ Hardy, and she knows he cheats on her with any pretty girl who’s willing, but she’s so, desperately, achingly lonely, and maybe with Champ, she’ll be less so.

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and is thrown headfirst back into the world she’s been researching for so long.

Wynonna’s back with a hoard of revenants and bad memories and Peacemaker in tow, but Waverly is happy, _excited_ , even. Sure, there are the small parts of her that are jealous, many even angry, at the fact that Wynonna’s the heir. Wynonna, who left and didn’t come back for years, while Waverly stayed and stayed and _stayed_ , but the relief of having her sister back is enough to keep those feelings at bay.

And then there’s Doc, and there’s Dolls, and Waverly throws herself into this, researches and photographs and laughs and is happy Waverly, and lets herself forget why Wynonna came back to Purgatory in the first place.

Sometimes, she goes and sits out at Uncle Curtis’s grave, next to the tomato plants. She never thanked him, not really. But she thinks he knew. She hopes he knew.

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and meets Purgatory’s newest deputy.

She’s just sprayed herself with beer when the woman walks in, leaning against the doorframe with a hat in her hands.

“I didn’t know Shorty’s had wet t-shirt competitions,” the woman says, smiling. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Waverly says, picking up a dry towel. “Just a bit jumpy.”

The woman is wearing a deputy’s uniform and she’s still smiling, and Waverly notices her dimples. She introduces herself as Nicole Haught, shaking Waverly’s hand, and something in Waverly’s stomach goes odd and fluttery. And Nicole orders (or tries to order) a cappuccino, and is _flirting_ , or at least Waverly thinks she’s flirting, and she panics a little bit which is how she finds herself stuck in her shirt, and Nicole comes around the bar, laughing.

“I got you,” she says, and she’s smiling as she meets Waverly’s eyes and there’s that fluttery feeling again.

“I owe you one,” Waverly says, and Nicole nods, a little bit.

“Well, how about you buy me that cup of coffee, tonight?”

“Oh, I can’t! No!” Waverly feels her eyes go wide. “I mean, I’d love to…uh, like to, but I have plans!” She flashes Nicole a smile that she hopes isn’t betraying her sudden riot of emotions, and she isn’t even sure what a good half those emotions are. “Yeah. I’m a planner. Like to know what I’m doing at least two, or three days in advance.”

She cringes, internally. God, what the hell is coming out of her mouth? She doesn’t know what she’s saying. “I’m in a relationship!” She blurts, and where did _that_ come from? “With a boy. Man.”

“A boy man,” Nicole says, still smiling. “Yep! I’ve been there! It’s the worst.” She sticks a small piece of paper down on the counter and picks her hat up off the bar counter. “Okay, well, some other time! I mean it!”

And Waverly’s entire stomach flip flops at the grin she levels Waverly’s way. She scoops up the little square of cardboard to find that it’s Nicole’s business card, and she smiles at the last name.

“Officer Haught. Of course.” She shakes her head a little, as if to shake the strange swirl of feeling away.

A month and a half later, she breaks up with Champ, and kisses Nicole on the musty old couch in Needley’s office, and wonders why it took to so long to do it.

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and her biggest tormentor is back.

She doesn’t like the feelings that come with Willa being back, doesn’t like them at all. Every single time Willa looks at her, Waverly feels like a scared little kid again, running out onto the ice to get away. Every time Willa snarls or snaps, she’s crashing through the ice, she’s on the beam in the shed, terrified of falling. She’s sick, she’s angry, and she should be happy because her sister is back and _alive_ , but she’s not.

She’s not, she’s not happy, she’s not thankful, she’s just sad and small and a terrified little girl running out on the ice to get away.

When Willa dies, Waverly feels only an empty, ringing numbness. She can hear Wynonna cry upstairs, can see the hollow look in her eyes, but Waverly is just…there. The only thing that remains of her sister is a pile of black goo. She leans down, presses a fingertip to the oil-slick surface, and a strange shudder runs through her.

“You ready?” She asks Wynonna, asks Doc, and Wynonna gives a tiny, wry smile.

“Sweetheart, I’m ready for anything.”

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and kissing Nicole like her life depends on it.

It feels like her brain is fuzzy and blurred, everything confusing and hazy and not-quite there, and she doesn’t understand, can’t think straight, can’t make herself focus, and it’s like she can never quite draw in a full breath. But with Nicole, everything is crystal clear and she can breathe again.

Nicole’s lips are soft against her own, warm and careful, but there’s a heat growing in Waverly’s pelvis and she’s not going to break. They collapse onto Waverly’s bed and consent is whispered in the air between them, and their kisses are now full of _lips_ and _tongue_ and _teeth_ , heavy and full and _wanting_. Desire pools low in Waverly’s stomach, a heavy swirl of molten chocolate, and she slips a hand under Nicole’s waistband and gasps at the _heat_ she finds.

Before, with Joey, with Champ, her sexual experiences had been lackluster, leaving her wondering if she just didn’t like it, if she just wasn’t made for it. But Nicole takes Waverly to pieces, again and again and _again_ , and Waverly is drunk with the way Nicole writhes under her hands, under her mouth.

There are awkward moments, of course there are, where teeth clash and knees bump and elbows hit tender places, but they laugh it away and just hold each other _tighter_ , seeking the starbursts that linger with each other’s veins, and Waverly nearly cries with how _perfect_ it is.

Afterwards, Waverly lies naked in her bed, curled up with her girlfriend, and she remembers how some of the town reacted to them dating, from the hissed slurs to the outright stares, and she wonders how any of them could think that this perfect, wonderful thing was wrong, when it felt so right.

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and isn’t sleeping.

The demon that was inside her is gone, leaving her with massive blank spots in her memory and nightmares that cause her to wake up sobbing, terrified.

Nightmares where everyone she loves dies under her hand, controlled by the creature using her body like a puppet. Doc and Dolls and Jeremy strew across the ground like broken toys, limbs twisted in unnatural positions. Wynonna, Peacemaker still clutched in her hand, eyes blank and still half-open. _Nicole_ , broken and bloody, still alive, pleading for Waverly to _stop_ , to take _control_ , but she never can.

They’re an inevitably whenever she sleeps longer than an hour or two, and she always wakes up shaking and sobbing and sick to her stomach, afraid that they were real.

They’re not as bad when Nicole’s in her bed, or she’s in Nicole’s. Because then her girlfriend with pull her close and whisper soft, soothing things into her ear and press kisses to her forehead, and Waverly will bury her face in her chest and cry while she waits for her heartrate to slow and the terror to recede. And Nicole is never angry at Waverly for waking her up, never impatient, never unkind.

It’s the nights she spends alone that are the worst. Those are the nights where she falls from her bed and runs down the hall, fear making her chest tight and her lungs contract, until she confirms that yes, Wynonna is still alive and asleep and safe, and not dead by Waverly’s hand.

The nights she spends alone are the worst. So those nights, she just stops sleeping. She’ll spend the next day a ghost, hiding her pale face and dark circles under her eyes with makeup expertly applied, and she pretends that she’s okay. Because Wynonna’s pregnant and scared, and needs Waverly to be okay.

Her sister needs Waverly to be okay.

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and not an Earp.

The paperwork says it all. Waverly Earp is not actually an Earp. She holds the crisp paper in both hands, standing in front of the pond that she ran across and fell through all those years ago, and feels empty. She hears a car pull up behind her, and she turns, expecting Nicole coming to apologize. But instead, it’s Wynonna, in pajama pants and her giant coat. Wynonna picks her way down the short hill and stops beside Waverly, breath forming little clouds in the early-morning air.

“Nicole came by,” Wynonna says in explanation. “She looks like shit.”

“It’s true,” Waverly says hollowly. She sees no point in drawing it out. “I’m not an Earp. I’m not your sister.”

Waverly isn’t sure what she’s expecting from Wynonna, but it’s not anger. “Yeah, that’s total fucking bullshit.”

“No, it’s not.” There are tears stinging at the edges of Waverly’s eyes, and she shoves the paperwork at Wynonna. “Look for yourself. Daddy…he wasn’t my dad. I’m not an Earp.”

Wynonna doesn’t even look at the paperwork. Instead, she grabs both of Waverly’s arms. “Babygirl, look at me. This? This means shit. You’re an Earp. You’re my sister. Do you know why?”

Waverly shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheek. “But-“

“No buts!” Wynonna shakes Waverly a little bit. “Waverly, family has _nothing_ to do with blood. This curse may not understand that, but guess what? I do. We’re family, because we’re here for each other and we have spent twenty-one years as sisters, and so we’re sisters and we will always be _sisters_. And you’re an Earp, because you stayed. Even when I left, you _stayed_.”

Waverly bursts into full tears, flinging her arms around Wynonna, around her _sister_ , and cries. Wynonna pats her back a couple of times before untangling herself.

“Now, come on. There’s this creepy-ass baby piñata sitting on our kitchen table and Nicole said it’s filled with doughnuts. Maybe whacking something with a stick will make you feel better.”

Waverly gives a watery laugh, wiping her eyes. “You already did.”

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and her girlfriend is standing on her front porch, crying.

Waverly opens the door but doesn’t say anything, just leans against the doorframe and waits for Nicole to speak.

Nicole does. “Waverly, I’m so, so sorry, for lying to you and hiding the results from you, and the thought that I did that makes me sick to my stomach, and I don’t expect you to forgive me but I just want you to know how _sorry_ I am.”

“I just want to know why,” Waverly says, crossing her arms.

Nicole wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, giving a little, breathy gasp. “I…I didn’t know what it was, when I got it. I opened it without checking to make sure it was mine, and by the time I figured out what it was I already knew the results. But I hid it…I hid it because I knew how much it meant to you, and I didn’t want you to have to see it. It was horrible, and selfish, but I didn’t want to have to put you through finding that out.”

“But that wasn’t your choice to _make_ ,” Waverly says, her voice shaking a little bit.

“I know. Oh, god, I know. I should have given it to you instantly.”

They stand on the porch, shivering, and, finally, Waverly steps aside. “Come in. I’ll make coffee or something. I’m still mad, but I don’t want you to freeze to death.”

They sit at the kitchen table, hands curled around hot mugs, but neither of them drink.

Nicole breaks the silence. “I just want to say…I understand if this is too much. If you want to…”

“Break up?” Waverly asks, horrified. “Nicole, no! I don’t want that. At all. I just…I think we should talk, and I’m glad I know why you did it now, and that you didn’t read it on purpose, but I still think…I still think we should talk.”

“Of course,” Nicole instantly agrees. “Of course.”

So, they do. And, four hours, a lot of tears, and two cups of coffee each, Wynonna comes downstairs to find them asleep on the couch.

“I guess you guys made up, then?” She asks, and Waverly and Nicole blink at each other. Waverly reaches out and curls her hand around Nicole’s.

“Yeah, I guess we did.”

-

Waverly is twenty-one years old, and unsure if she’ll ever see her girlfriend again.

Dolls and Nicole went out alone, and they should have been back two hours ago. Waverly has all but worn a hole in the floor from her pacing, and everyone else, Doc and Wynonna and Jeremy, are equally antsy, but there’s a sick, heavy sensation in the pit of Waverly’s stomach, sour milk curling in her belly, fear in her throat and pulsing in her mind.

They should have been back. It was supposed to be a quick errand, just to check the church, to see if there was anything still there, but they’re still not back. And Waverly keeps imaging them, bloody and torn apart on the snow, the Widows crouched over them. Her stomach churns, and she presses a hand to her mouth, trying to keep herself from throwing up.

And then, finally, the door opens, and Dolls and Nicole come in, both windblown and muddy. Everyone shoots to their feet, and Wynonna asks the question they all have on their lips.

“What the _hell_ happened? Why didn’t you call?”

“The Widows were waiting,” Dolls explained, shaking twigs from his hair. “Shot ‘em a couple of times when they tried to come after us, then spent the rest of the time hiding in the woods.”

“And you’re okay?” Waverly’s voice is choked, and Nicole nods, a small smile on her face.

“Yeah, we’re fine. A bit sore, but they either gave up chasing us or decided it wasn’t worth it.”

Waverly gives a dry sob, and hurls herself into Nicole’s arms, hugging her as tight as possible. Nicole makes a little surprised sound in the back of her throat, but hugs Waverly back. “I’m fine, Waves, I promise.”

Waverly kisses her, hard and fast, then flings her arms around Nicole’s neck. “Thank god. I was worried you wouldn’t come back.”

Nicole reaches up to cup Waverly’s face, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “I’ll always come back. I couldn’t keep myself away if I tried.”

Wynonna mimes barfing behind Waverly’s back.

Waverly ignores her, burying her face in Nicole’s neck and squeezing her _tighter_. Waverly has been left so many times. She doesn’t think she could bare Nicole leaving her, too.

-

Waverly is twenty-two years old, and sitting in a booth at Shorty’s with a birthday cake in front of her.

It’s a chocolate ice cream cake, her favorite, but she doesn’t care about the cake.

Doc and Dolls are arguing at the bar, but there’s no bite to their words, and Jeremy is interjecting at the weirdest moments and Wynonna is sitting across the booth from her, her third slice of cake in front of her, and there’s Nicole sitting next to her, an arm draped around Waverly’s hips and their thighs pressed together.

And, as Nicole presses a kiss to the top of Waverly’s head, it occurs to Waverly that she’s not lonely, anymore. She hasn’t been lonely in a long time.

So, no, she doesn’t care about the cake.

-

Waverly is twenty-two years old, and gets a panicked call from Doc while she and Nicole watch a movie at Nicole’s little house.

It takes a couple of minutes to calm him down, and it takes Waverly hitting speaker phone and both her AND Nicole to sooth his panic enough to understand, but once they realize what he’s saying they both spring up, upsetting Nicole’s cat and sending her streaking away.

Wynonna’s in labor, and they’re on the way to the hospital, and would Waverly please _hurry up and meet them_?

They get dressed as quickly as possible, simply pulling sweatshirts on over tank tops and shoving pajama pants into snow boots, and they both pile into Nicole’s car. Nicole glances over as she turns the key in the ignition, smiling.

“So, Waves, are you ready to be an aunt?”

Waverly grins. “Hell, yes. Let’s go!”  
-

Waverly is twenty-two years old, and cradling her newborn niece in her arms.

She’s tiny, tinier than Waverly thought possible, with bushy dark hair and the longest eyelashes Waverly has ever seen on such a small person.

It took thirty-six hours of labor total, and it feels like Wynonna has crushed all the bones in Waverly’s right hand, but she thinks her new, perfect niece is worth it.

Wynonna is propped upright in the hospital bed, looking about as smug as a clearly exhausted person can look, arms crossed across her chest.

“So, Waves,” Wynonna says, “What do you think?”

“She’s beautiful, Wynonna,” Waverly says, touching a fingertip to the end of the baby’s nose. She yawns and squirms, but doesn’t wake. Waverly smiles at her sister, leans down to kiss her forehead. “You did good.”

“I did,” Wynonna says proudly. “Even if that asshole did take her time.”

“Don’t swear in front of the baby, Wynonna,” Dolls says from his place by the window, but he’s smiling as he says it. Wynonna sticks her middle finger up at him, but she’s smiling, too. She then returns her attention to Waverly.

“So, since _someone_ nixed the name Whisky,” Wynonna says, mock-glaring at Doc, in his chair next to her bed, who tips his head, “We talked, and since I named you, we think it’s fair. We want you to name her.”

“What?” Waverly’s head flies up. “Wynonna, I can’t!”

“You can.” Wynonna shifts in bed, wincing slightly. “Just don’t pick anything too cutesy and we’ll be good, I promise.”

“So, she shouldn’t name the kid a name she likes,” Nicole says from across the room, where she leans against the wall. She smiles to show she’s joking, and Waverly sticks her tongue out at her, before looking back down at the little red bundle in arms. She hums a little as she thinks, before looking back up at Wynonna.

“What do you think of the name Weslyn?”

Wynonna nods, slowly. “Weslyn Earp. I like it.” She reaches out, and Waverly gently deposits the baby back into her arms.

“This kid is going to have one hell of an interesting childhood,” Wynonna says, “But hey, with all of us, I don’t think we could screw her up _that_ badly.”

“No,” Waverly says, reaching out for Nicole, who curls an arm around Waverly. “I don’t think so.”

-

Waverly is twenty-two years old, in a dimly lit hospital room, tired and happy and surrounded by her little, strange, perfect family.

**Author's Note:**

> So. First bit of work I did for this fandom. How'd I do? I mean, I know it's long and there's no plot to speak of and it's probably riddled with typos, but whatever. I FINISHED IT, FINALLY.
> 
> If you want to chat elsewhere, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://ainewrites.tumblr.com/). I'm also on Twitter under the same name, but I'm less interesting over there.


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